As Fate Would Have It
by StrangeSweetSound
Summary: Modern day. When Christine loses everything, fate quite literally leaves her at a stranger's doorstep. The reclusive author Erik Destler reluctantly takes her in and hires her as help for the house. After months of hating each other, different feelings emerge... as do questions. Why did Christine lose everything to begin with? Or, to be more precise, who took it all away?
1. The Perfect Day

**Greetings! Welcome to my new story! If you saw or read my oneshot _Lovely_, this is the story it was intended to be a part of. It will be incorporated into the story (with some changes) in later chapters. Well, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of _As Fate Would Have It._ **

* * *

The _check engine_ light had been glaring at her for the last two hours. But Christine had chosen to ignore it. She had been preoccupied with driving through the mountains in a snow storm. Or, at least, that's what she would tell the mechanic. If a mechanic was coming. If her phone had service. If she knew where the hell she was.

Now the tears came. It was about time. She had been numb for the entire day. Christine just let herself sob in her dead car in the middle of a blizzard on some godforsaken mountain. What a positively _perfect_ ending to such a _perfect_ day.

She had been on a business trip in Denver. Christine was a communications coordinator at a struggling PR firm in Phoenix. She and some of her colleagues had traveled to meet with a client. They all had to drive—the company couldn't afford tickets for a flight. It had been an emergency meeting, but the trip was expected to last a week. The team had to hash out an entirely new crisis correspondence and publicity plan for this particular client.

When they finally all arrived at the client's office, they realized the situation was far worse than they had anticipated. Scandals, indictments, liabilities… It was a mess. The team had scrambled to prepare a statement, and they luckily got it out within a day of the incident. It was general and apologetic enough to buy them some time. However, after they met with the client the next day, her boss pulled her aside.

"Christine, something has come to my attention." He looked very agitated. "This company should have had a far more thorough crisis management plan prepared when we first gained them as a client. As I understand it, they were your responsibility. Christine, this is unacceptable. Not only is our client floundering, but we appear completely unprofessional and unprepared. I'm sorry, but I have no choice but to excuse you permanently. Please gather your things, return home, and clean out your office." He left her and went back into the conference room.

Christine stood there for a few minutes, absolutely bewildered. She walked numbly to her car and drove to the hotel. She slowly repacked her bags. As she starting driving back home, the questions came. _How could I have missed it? Is anyone else getting fired because of me? How am I going to find another job after a mistake like that? I can't believe I drove all the way here just to get fired._

As she drove up a mountain, the snow storm hit. She had been completely dazed earlier and didn't think to check the weather or driving conditions. Or about booking another hotel for her drive back. More thoughts arose as she creeped up the mountain. _I don't want to go back to my empty apartment. I wish I had someone to talk to. Maybe I should call Rob when I get back…_

That last thought made Christine snap back to reality. Her confidence must really be shattered to think such desperate thoughts. She took a breath and tried to pay closer attention to her driving. The storm was worsening. And that was when she noticed the check engine light. She took a look around the highway, searching for civilization. There was an exit soon, maybe she could find a mechanic and a hotel.

Christine took the exit, but it didn't really lead her to a town. She made a few turns but seemed to be going higher up the mountain on a much more treacherous road. By the time she had decided to turn around, it was too late. Her car died.

And now here she sat. Tear-stained, alone, and confused. What was she supposed to do now? If she stayed in her car, she might freeze to death. If she went outside to look for shelter, she still might freeze to death. She thought for a moment, and then sighed. _I might as well die an adventurous death_. She bundled up with her coat, gloves, hat, and scarf before venturing out into the blizzard. She wouldn't go too far, just enough to see if there was _anything_ close by.

Christine walked up the road, snow up to her shins. She walked for a few minutes. Just when she was about to give up and go the other way, she thought she saw light ahead. She squinted against the biting wind. Yes! It was a house! She broke into a sprint toward it, ignoring her brief thoughts about murderers who live in isolation in the mountains. As she neared, Christine realized that it wasn't a house. It was a freaking mansion. Even in the dark blizzard, she could tell it was massive.

"Thank God," she whispered. She ran to the front door, but in her haste, slipped on the first step. Her ankle twisted as she fell with a thud.

"Dammit!" she screamed. No, this was the perfect ending to her perfect day. She was about to stand up and try again, but the front door was already opening.

A curt-looking older woman stood in the doorway. Christine looked up at her apologetically.  
"Hello," she said as she tried to stand back up. "Uh, my name is Christine Denton and my car broke down—"  
"Christine Denton?" asked a voice from behind the woman.  
"Yes…?"  
A young, blonde woman wiggled her way in front of the older woman. She looked just as curious as Christine felt. But she also looked slightly familiar… They stared at each other for a moment. It seemed to click for the other girl first.  
"Megan Giry," she said, helping her up. "I think we went to college together. You were in the communications program at UNLV, right?"  
"Yes! Meg Giry. Right. Wow, think of the odds…" They had only been acquaintances in college, but they did have quite a few classes together.

Christine limped as Meg helped her up.  
"Oh! Did you hurt yourself?" She offered her arm as support.  
"I guess so. I was so excited to find a house that I didn't think about slick spots," she smiled feebly.  
Meg steered her to the door. "Well let's get you inside. What did you say happened?"

Christine tried to make sure she kept her jaw off the floor. Even though the house was rather dark, she could see the high ceiling. This place was huge.  
"I—I was driving through the storm and my car needed servicing. I took an exit, thinking I could find a town or mechanic. Then my car died." Meg sat her down by large, roaring fireplace. It warmed her immediately.

"I'll get tea," the older woman went into another room. There was a comfortable silence as the two sat by the fire. But Meg was talkative.  
"So what have you done the last—what—three years since you graduated?" It wasn't just a question to fill the silence; she seemed to genuinely care. Christine felt her loneliness melting away with the warmth of Meg's friendship.

They began discussing her previous jobs, including the most recent.  
"Public relations, how exciting!" she said, intrigued.  
The older woman returned with a nice mug full of hot tea.  
"Thank you…" Christine paused."  
Annette Giry, Meg's mother," she said, shaking Christine's hand. She smiled slightly before retreating to another chair.

"So the PR firm is in Phoenix, right?" Meg asked, continuing their conversation.  
"Yes."  
"So what brought you to Colorado?"  
Christine sighed and stared down at her tea. She didn't owe any explanation to this girl, but she was so genuine and kind. What else could she possibly lose in telling the truth? "We were on a business trip to meet with a client in Denver, but I was fired." She decided to spare her the details.  
"Oh, Christine, I'm so sorry."  
"Me, too. The firm was struggling anyways… But I guess I can get a fresh start somewhere else. Maybe doing something else…" There was another pause, but it was slightly more awkward. Christine sipped her tea.

"But what about you?" she asked suddenly, realizing how rude she was being.  
Meg smiled. "Well, I double-majored with Communications and English, so I went in a little different direction than you. I'm learning how to edit books and novels."  
"That's wonderful!" Christine was truly impressed.  
"I've actually been working with a best-selling novelist and his current editor for almost a year," she said enthusiastically.  
"Really? Who?"  
"Edward Dupont, the mystery author."  
"Oh yes, I've heard of him. Isn't he a major recluse?"  
"Yes, not many people who work with him have even seen him," Meg sounded like she was telling her own mystery story. Neither of them noticed how Annette was growing more and more agitated.  
Christine followed her cue, "Have you?"  
"Yes. He mostly works from home… _This_ home, to be more precise."  
Christine nearly spewed her tea. "_This_ is Edward Dupont's home?"  
"Yes!" Meg said, pleased to share her secret.  
Christine thought for a moment. "So, what, you live with him?"  
"No, no, nothing like that," she said. "My mother does."  
"Huh?"

Annette finally stood up, looking exasperated. "For goodness _sake_, Megan, I work for him." She turned to Christine. "I clean the house, cook meals, do laundry, all of that. I live here, and Meg is simply visiting, like she does all too frequently," she smiled slightly at her daughter.  
Meg leaned in to Christine and whispered loudly, "I don't really come to visit her, I just can't get enough of this _gorgeous_ house!" They all laughed softly and fell back into silence. Christine drank more of her tea and looked around. The fireplace was the only light source and it bathed the living room in a golden glow. So warm.

"Well, it goes without saying that you are more than welcome to stay here tonight," Meg said kindly.  
"Thank you, but don't you think that _he_ will mind?" Christine felt it might be rude to stay without the master of the house's consent.  
"No, of course not. He—"  
"You overestimate me, Little Giry," interrupted a silken voice behind Christine. She and Meg both jumped.  
"Please, Erik, she is my friend. Her car broke down in the storm and I think she twisted her ankle finding the place," Meg stood and walked past Christine as she spoke.

_Erik? I thought his name was Edward?_ Christine turned in her chair to get a glimpse of him. He stood in front of the blazing fireplace, so he was cast in shadow. But she thought she could see something glowing on his face… _What?_ Christine decided to stop staring and turned back around.

There was some murmuring then Meg sighed loudly. "Mother would you please talk to him? You're the only one he ever listens to." Annette pursed her lips at her daughter. But she stood and ushered him into the kitchen so they could speak privately.

Meg sat back down next to Christine. "I'm sorry about that. He just really values his privacy. Too much, if you ask me," she mumbled bitterly.  
"So who was that exactly?"  
"That was Edward Dupont," Meg stated. Christine's look of confusion encouraged her to continue. "Well, that's actually just a pen name. His real name is Erik Destler. I get it mixed up sometimes. In business situations I'm supposed to use the pseudonym, but when it's just my mother and me he doesn't mind. See what I mean about privacy?"  
"Right. I'm sorry I've caused this friction between you all. I didn't mean to intrude on his privacy," Christine said thoughtfully.  
"Oh, there's always friction. He's kind of like a spoiled child. He just needs to learn he won't always get his way." She sensed there had been situations similar to this one before.

Soon, the two figures emerged from the kitchen. Annette switched on a lamp, and Christine got a better look at the mysterious author. He was rather tall, and it looked like he was dressed in all black. His clothes paired with his dark hair made the white mask on his face extremely conspicuous. _What?! Why the hell is he wearing a mask?_ Christine was glad he wasn't the one who had answered the door—she definitely would have run away screaming. She wondered if it was a joke, but the Girys didn't seem to think anything was funny. In fact, they all became very serious.

Mr. Destler walked over to stand in front of her. His grey eyes stared down at her in the chair. It took her a moment to realize that he expected her to stand up as well. Once she had scrambled to her feet, he began to speak.

"You may stay here tonight and tonight only. The Girys will help you find a hotel and maintenance for your car in the morning." He paused. Christine saw his jaw clenching the whole time. "Ice your ankle and wrap it if needed." He brushed past her and disappeared into the shadows of his mansion.  
After a couple moments, Meg lightened the mood. "Whew! Nice work, Mother!"  
Annette rolled her eyes. "Well I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Meg. It was a pleasure to meet you, Christine."  
"Thank you for everything, Annette," Christine said softly.

The two women sat back down in their chairs. "She's kind of like his mother, too," Meg mused. "I think he's the closest with her than anyone else in his life… which still isn't very close. She's worked for him for years. He trusts her enough to let us both into his private life. I'm just lucky to get to work with him. He might be a jerk sometimes, but he's brilliant…" she trailed off. Christine wanted to ask her about the mask but decided the question was for another time.

Meg stood up, making her way toward the kitchen. "Do you want some wine?"  
Christine looked down at her empty mug. "Sure." She could definitely use a drink after a day like today. She listened as Meg clinked around. She returned shortly with two glasses filled with Chardonnay. They began drinking in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

"So what are you going to do now?" Meg asked softly.  
"What?" Christine snapped from her reverie.  
"Now that you're jobless. Are you going to go back to Phoenix and look for another PR position?"  
She thought for a moment. That wasn't really what she wanted. Nor did she think she could get another job like that after being fired… "No, I don't think so… I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I don't really have anyone to go back to. I didn't have any friends at the firm. Or in my neighborhood. Or anywhere." Her eyes began to sting a little. "Rob and I are done, so _that's_ out of the question—"  
"Wait, who's Rob?"  
Christine cursed herself for even bringing him up. "Um, Robert Carlisle. We dated in college…"  
"Oh yeah, that handsome blond guy!"  
"Yeah, him. It, um, didn't work out very well," she swiped at a tear.  
"Oh, Christine…"  
She shook her head. "It's in the past. But now… I don't know what to do. I'm not even sure if I'll be able to make rent next month."  
Meg looked at her sympathetically. "Maybe this can be your chance to start fresh. Try something different. Go somewhere different."  
Christine took another drink. "Yeah, maybe."

Then something else sparked her interest. "You know, Mother has been worried about her job lately."  
"Really? Why?"  
"Well, she's been getting older and her body can't quite keep up with the physical labor of taking care of such a large house. And it's not like Erik will trust anyone else to clean and keep it up."  
"Right." Christine wasn't really sure why she had brought this up.

Meg took a large gulp of wine. "I had a thought."  
She braced herself by taking another drink.  
"What if you helped her out?"  
Christine made a face and drank some more.  
"No! Think about it! You don't have a job. You don't have anywhere to go. You don't have anyone to go to. You could slowly take over Mother's cleaning job and she could transition out of it. You would have a rent-less roof over your head. Free food. Hell, he would probably even pay you."

Christine stared at her. She must be a lightweight, because there was no way Meg was sober. "Edward Dupont. Erik Destler. You think he would pay me? You think he would let me waltz right in to his inner sanctum of privacy and safety? To clean? Why would I want to clean for a living anyway?" She decided not to share the fact that she loved to clean.  
Meg finished off her wine. "I don't know. It all just seems like perfect timing. I really think you should consider it. My mother's cooking is phenomenal. Colorado is beautiful, too. And this house! Ugh! I would love to live here all the time!"

Christine looked up at the high ceilings and great stone fireplace. It was beautiful. And it was interesting timing…

Meg stood up. "Are you tired?"  
"Yes." She finished off her wine as well.  
"Let's get you settled, then."

She followed her new friend up a gorgeous staircase, down a hall, and into a large room. Meg turned on a lamp.  
"This is usually where I sleep, but I'll go in Mother's room. A bathroom connects the two rooms, over here."  
Meg set out pajamas, a towel, and some extra blankets. Christine was once again struck by her kindness.  
Before she left, Meg looked at her friend. "Please think about it." She smiled. "Goodnight."

Christine changed into the pajamas and crawled into the queen-sized bed. Sighing, she started to think about it. She thought about her empty, crappy apartment and rude landlord. Her soon to be empty office. Her empty fridge. Her empty bed. Her empty life. She rolled over, as if to hide from her emptiness. Tears came to her eyes. God, she hadn't realized how lonely she truly was.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Sure, she could do without the blizzards in March, but the Colorado mountains were beautiful. Having the security of a job and living situation was tempting. Having a friend like Meg around was tempting. However, cleaning all the time wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind… Nor was living in the same house as a privacy-obsessed reclusive author. Christine had to remind herself that things could be _much_ worse.

She sighed and tried to stop thinking. She was exhausted, and rightfully so. This had been an… interesting day, to say the least.

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**Please review! :)**


	2. Welcome Home

**Hey there, phans! I've enjoyed writing and planning out this story so far, and I hope you all will love it! Please don't forget to review—they really do mean a lot. :)**

* * *

Something was different. Christine just couldn't quite put her finger on it… Maybe it was the fact that her bed was _so_ comfortable today. Or the different smell of the sheets. The sun seemed to be coming from a different direction—it wasn't shining in her face like usual. Christine opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room. She rested on her elbow and looked around. Before she had a chance to question where she was, it all came rushing back. She had been fired, found this mansion, got reacquainted with Meg, and now she had a decision to make.

Was this even her decision? There was no way Erik Destler would allow this, not after she saw how he had reacted to her staying only one night. The thought of losing this opportunity made her nervous, though. Even though the situation wasn't ideal, Christine had begun to trust it. It would provide security, something she hadn't had in a very long time. A familiar ache wedged its way into her heart. She didn't realize until last night that it was an ache of loneliness. She thought of Meg's sincerity and kindness. Annette's willingness to help her. Their traits could outweigh Mr. Destler's peculiar obsession with privacy. Couldn't they?

Her musings were interrupted by someone knocking on the door. Christine sat up all the way as Meg's head popped through the cracked door.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Surprisingly well, actually… You can come in."

Meg entered the bedroom and closed the door behind her. "I have some news. I hope you realize that I was completely serious about what I said last night. I think it would be a good thing for you to stay and work here. Now, I discussed it with Mother early this morning, and it took some persuading, but she likes the idea, too. I waited until after Erik worked out this morning to mention it to him—that's when he's in his best mood… if you can call it that. Anyways, he brushed me off at first, but then I explained to him how Mother wouldn't be able to do this forever. And it would be better to ease someone else in than suddenly get someone new or have a dirty house—"

"Meg, breathe!" Christine laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I babble when I get excited." She took a moment to inhale and exhale. "Essentially, Mother and I have practically succeeded in convincing him. But he wants to talk to you. Kind of like an interview, I guess. So the job is basically yours. If you want it, that is."

She looked expectantly at Christine, who began to panic. Had she thought this through enough? Was she ready to make a decision? What if—

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry, Christine, I'm being so rude. You just woke up. You need time to think," Meg looked mortified.

Christine smiled at her assuringly. "How about I take a shower and I'll talk with Mr. Destler after I'm ready."

Meg nodded. "There's some extra clothes in the armoire if you'd like." She turned back to smile at her before exiting the bedroom.

Christine let out a breath and got out of bed. She went to the window and ghosted her fingers over the white chiffon curtains. She delicately pulled them back and gasped when she saw the view. There was a lake in the backyard. Okay, so maybe it couldn't technically be called a backyard… but there was a lake within 50 feet of the house. The snow from the previous night had created an entrancing wonderland. The evergreens were ever-white and the snow glittered in the morning sun. The lake was a gorgeous dark blue, but it wasn't cold enough for it to be frozen all the way through. Christine's breath fogged up the glass of the window.

She stepped back. _That view alone could make me stay._ She grabbed the towel Meg had set out and made her way into the bathroom. Even _that_ was gorgeous—an elaborate mirror, intricate tiling, an incredibly plush rug. There was a jacuzzi tub and a separate glass-doored shower. As she undressed, Christine hoped she would get to use the tub sometime soon…

* * *

Clean and refreshed, Christine made her way down the staircase. Her fingers caressed the details of the wooden railing as she descended. The morning sun glistened through the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. It had been so dark the night before, she hadn't noticed them. As a matter of fact, she could see so much more of the house now. Oh, it was stunning. The woodwork matched the handrail and made it all look so warm. The stone fireplace stood in the middle of the great area, separating the living room and an informal dining room and kitchen. She looked up at the ceiling and found a gorgeous crystal chandelier. The crystals caught the natural light and cast tiny rainbows all around it.

Her admiring of the house was interrupted by Meg, who was passing by.

"Christine! Would you like some breakfast or do you want to speak with Erik first?"

This was it. Time to discuss her decision. Her stomach suddenly squirmed. She didn't feel so hungry now.

"Let's just get it over with," she smiled to indicate her jest.

Meg smiled feebly back and led her to another hall off of the living room.

They came upon a gorgeous door with the themed detailing. She could hear voices on the other side of it, and Christine briefly wondered if Annette was still trying to persuade him. Meg knocked, the voices stopped, and Annette opened the door. Christine followed Meg in to what appeared to be Mr. Destler's study. One wall was covered entirely with books on shelves and another held some framed diplomas and accomplishments. There were large windows in this room as well, but they were currently covered with large, dark red drapes.

"Please sit," his velvet voice said curtly. Christine stepped forward to the red plush chair closest to his desk and sat down. The Girys sat in chairs a little farther away. There was a tense silence. She decided to stop admiring the decor and act like this was a real interview. Doing her best to avoid staring at the mask, Christine crossed her legs and looked Mr. Destler in the eyes. They were a steel-like grey. Interesting. He seemed to be testing her, like he was waiting for her to glance at his mask so he could kick her out. But she was determined. Partially because she wanted the job and partially because he was challenging her.

Finally, after an insanely pregnant pause, he began to speak. "The Girys tell me you seek employment here."

"That is correct."

"Why?"

She broke eye contact and sighed softly. "I am currently unemployed, and I honestly don't know what else to do." She decided to spare the details, not wanting him to think she was telling some sob story for sympathy.

"What was your previous job?"

"I was the communications coordinator at Populaire Relations in Phoenix."

"Why are you no longer with Populaire?"

Christine felt her jaw clench. This was still a sore subject. She hadn't had much time to heal. "I was fired."

He tilted his head toward her as if to say _go on_.

"I missed an important detail when we gained a client."

He held her slightly aggravated stare for a moment but then decided to drop the subject. Christine thought she heard one of the Girys exhale.

"Do you have experience performing domestic work, Miss Denton?"

She started to feel like this whole thing was an unnecessary formality. "Well, I _have_ lived in a house before."

Meg snorted. Annette elbowed her. Christine smiled slightly. When she looked back at Mr. Destler, he was staring at her with irritated eyes and his visible eyebrow raised. She sighed.

"I mean… I can clean, cook, do laundry, I garden, and I'm not afraid of maintenance or yard work." Meg and Annette exchanged surprised looks. All of it was true. She began to think she might actually be good at this job.

Mr. Destler's eyes became unreadable, and he examined a piece of paper on his desk. Before she could wonder if that was a good or bad sign, he spoke again.

"Annette will show you how to properly perform the cleaning tasks. You will have a tight schedule once you learn everything. I will write up a list of your duties and we will discuss logistics later."

Meg had begun to bounce in her chair before he finished speaking. But she waited until he was done before rushing over to Christine and hugging her.

"Welcome home, Christine!" Meg said gaily.

Mr. Destler stood, walked stiffly around them, and headed for the door. Before he could leave, though, Christine went to him.

"Mr. Destler," she said. He turned around to her outstretched hand. "Thank you."

He looked at her hand briefly before shaking it. He nodded and left the study.

* * *

After breakfast, Meg and Annette gave her a grand tour of the house. The informal dining room and kitchen were the length of the living room. They led to the enclosed formal dining room. The backyard had a huge wooden deck that spanned the length of the house. Off to one side was a hot tub. The view was just as picturesque as she had seen this morning: pines and spruces scattered throughout the backyard, a gorgeous lake, and mountains in the background. There was also a fitness room—apparently Mr. Destler cared about his health. One wall was covered in mirrors. There was a treadmill, an elliptical, mats, weights, medicine balls… Christine hoped he wasn't too protective of this room. She went to the gym fairly regularly at home and wouldn't mind working out here. A hallway from the living room fed off to Mr. Destler's study, a music room, and a library. And they didn't disappoint.

As they walked into the music room, Christine could tell it had lovely acoustics. In the center of the room was a grand piano, cluttered in sheet music and compositions. A guitar and a violin had their own corner. There was an impressive music library as well. Before she had finished marveling at that room, she was swept away to the next. They came upon a pair of double doors, also bearing the wooden detailing. The Girys allowed her to be the one to open the doors. She gripped the intricate handles and pushed. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

The library was an open two stories. Where the walls weren't covered in books upon books there were those huge windows again. A balcony encircled the entire library, as to reach the second level books. There were movable ladders, large cushioned chairs and couches, and another huge fireplace in the center of it all. Christine felt like she would faint. This place was perfect. Meg winked at her and had to drag her on to the next stop on the tour.

They made their way up the grand staircase. Part of the second floor was open to the first, which was why the ceilings were so high. The hallway was a balcony of sorts at the top of the stairs. There was her room, of course, Annette's, an extra office-like room, and the master bedroom. It was at the end of the hallway. The open hall ended before it reached his room, casting the door in shadow. _How fitting_, Christine thought.

After the tour, they ate lunch in the informal dining room. Mr. Destler arrived with a large stack of papers and his laptop. Christine realized that this would not be a relaxing mealtime. He began with her list of chores: dusting and vacuuming the living room, library, formal dining room, and music room; cleaning all of the large windows; cleaning the main floor bathroom as well as her own; sweeping the chimneys; and cleaning and sanitizing the gym. Annette would take care of the kitchen and informal dining room.

"You will not need to clean my bedroom or the den."

"Why—?"

"I like my privacy," he responded curtly.

Christine dropped the subject, not knowing why she had even bothered to ask.

"You may garden for leisure when the weather is nice. Annette will prepare meals during the week, but you will cook on the weekends."

Next, he gave her a table explaining when the chores were to be done throughout the week. Then he presented her with a contract, which basically reiterated everything he had just explained. It also contained her benefits and salary. He had already written his signature; Christine gladly signed it as well. Then Mr. Destler promptly gathered the contract, his papers, and computer, and left without eating. Christine let out a breath once he was out of earshot, and Meg gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"Why don't we go get your things?" Annette said.

The three women ventured out into the bright, snowy afternoon to Christine's car. It was a little ways down the street, right where she had left it. She had just one suitcase—she had only packed for a week-long trip.

"You could go shopping in town," Annette suggested, noticing her light packing. "It's only about 45 minutes away."

"What about your other things? Don't you have belongings back at home that you want?" Meg sounded concerned.

Christine thought about that. "Yes, there are some things I'd like to bring here. I can call my landlord and have them shipped here. I'm sure he'll be eager to get my junk out and replace me. I'll probably just sell or give away everything else." She tried not to be sad about it. This was a new start, and she would have to let go of some things. Both physical and emotional.

* * *

After Christine had unpacked, which didn't take very long, Meg decided that she needed to go back to her apartment in town. The roads were probably cleared a bit by now. Once they got her sent off, Annette took Christine around the entire house and showed her how to clean everything properly. From the dusting spray to the ladder for cleaning the windows to properly scrubbing a toilet. It wasn't annoying, exactly—Annette was nice enough about it all—but it just seemed like overkill. Chores were chores, not the Cleaning Olympics. But Christine kept her mouth shut and committed as much to memory as possible.

The training session took a couple hours. By the time they had finished, Christine was tired and hungry. She was suddenly glad she wouldn't have to prepare meals during the week. But that thought made her pause.

"Annette," she said, sitting down at the table.

"Yes?" She began chopping vegetables.

"Do I cook on the weekends to give you a break?"

There was a pause. "Yes, you could say that."

Christine squinted. "What else could I say?"

Now there was a longer pause. "…You could also say that you cook on the weekends because I won't be here."

"_What_?"

She continued chopping silently.

Christine rose and stood across from her at the island. "Annette, you can't expect me to—"

"To what?"

Christine stopped short and turned. Mr. Destler stood there with an impish glint in his grey eyes. He was playing innocent; he knew precisely what she was about to say. She tried not to glare at him and his stupid mask. How did she not hear him approach? He was like a cat or something. _She can't expect me to be alone in a house with _you_ for a weekend._

"You can't possibly be backing out of the job already? I know it's meticulous, but you haven't even _tried _yet." He smiled—or was it more of a sneer?—as he nicked a piece of carrot from the salad bowl. She didn't like his implication that she couldn't handle a simple housekeeping job. Her eyes narrowed, challenging.

"Of course not." She began to set the table, trying to ignore Mr. Destler's presence.

* * *

Christine awoke bright and early the next morning. She went down the stairs for breakfast, still dressed in her pajamas. Annette greeted her as she served her a plate of eggs in a basket. Christine responded lazily; she wasn't much of a morning person. Mr. Destler came down the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark Oxford shirt. He slipped into the kitchen quickly to grab a piece of toast. But before he left, he looked at the mess of dark curls piled on top of Christine's head with distaste. She felt like snarling at him! Annette had noticed the exchange.

"He likes clean appearances, especially since we work here," she said once he was gone. Christine bit her tongue, knowing it would be very wrong to comment on his opinion of appearances.

She ate quickly and went back upstairs to shower and get ready. How was she supposed to look nice and be able to clean at the same time? Christine frowned as she looked in her mostly empty closet. She would definitely have to go shopping in town. Finally, she chose something on the more comfortable side: jeans and a purple v-neck shirt. She remembered Mr. Destler's look of dislike for her wild curls and decided to French braid her hair. As much as she wanted to look like a slob—just to spite him—she knew it wasn't a good idea.

Christine looked at herself in the mirror. She wore makeup most of the time, but today she felt like her usually boring brown eyes looked pretty. The dark circles under her eyes were already fading. She slept better here. It was peaceful to be away from the city—all the noise and so many people.

As Christine looked over the cleaning schedule, she gathered the supplies she would need from a closet next to the laundry room. Dusting the library was first. She filled a tub with a few cans of dusting spray, old rags, and a long-handled duster. After opening the double doors to the library, it hit her yet again how gorgeous this place was. She couldn't wait to just sit on a luxurious couch and read in the warm light of the fireplace. She sighed and made her way up and down the aisles of bookshelves.

When she finally finished the first level, Christine made her way up to the second. There weren't as many shelves, but she did have to climb up and down the ladders to reach the higher ones. Halfway around the mezzanine, her arms and legs got tired. She leaned against the shelf and rubbed her neck. Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as she thought… When she turned around to continue on, Christine came face-to-face with an ancient-looking book. She pulled it from the shelf and carefully examined the covers. It was decrepit but so very beautiful. She opened it delicately, turning the yellowed pages. The smell made her smile slightly.

"I don't pay you to admire my books," Mr. Destler called from the lower level. Christine jumped, juggled the book, and put it back on the shelf in one fluid movement. He retrieved a book from the shelf next to him and continued out of the library. She tried to ignore his smug chuckle as she returned to dusting.

Unfortunately for Christine, this became a theme as she learned the ropes for the rest of the week. She was either trying to ignore him or waiting for him to pop out with a surprise inspection. Okay, so, it wasn't explicitly stated as such, but that's what it felt like.

Another day, she was scrubbing the main floor toilet when he appeared from nowhere.

"Don't forget the bleach," he said coolly. He was only a couple of feet away from her. How long had he been standing there?

She looked up at him, trying not to glare. "Okay."

He stared at her for a moment longer and then left the bathroom.

Similar events occurred throughout the week, and they drove Christine crazy. She hated how easily and quietly he could sneak up. She hated his self-righteous tone, smug smiles, and conceited laughter. What was worse, he was usually right. He would tell her if she missed a spot or if her method was inaccurate. And he would correct her with such a superiority… like she was incompetent.

"I hate it… I hated being treated like an ignorant inferior. I don't know how much longer I can stay here," Christine said to Meg on the phone later that week.

Meg sighed, "I know it's frustrating, but that's how he is sometimes. He doesn't exactly know how to interact with people… so he just does what he knows best."

"What, acting like an asshole?"

"…Well, yes. It's a defense of sorts."

Christine grumbled incoherently.

"Follow his instructions exactly and learn from your mistakes. Then he won't have anything to comment on. Please just stick it out for a month. If you haven't improved then, you have my blessing to leave." She paused, then said gently, "I just don't know why you're so eager to escape when you yourself said that you have nothing to go back to."

* * *

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	3. A Weekend Alone

**Sup phreaks. This chapter is a bit shorter, but you are getting two updates in one week. That has to be worth something, right? ;) I want to give a BIG thank you to those of you who have reviewed so far (Oliver Grey, emilovesyouxp, RedDeathLvr, Sassyangelofmusic, a guest, , & Shadow of the Red Rose). Your reviews are so kind and encouraging! :)**

* * *

It was late Friday afternoon and Christine was about to finish the last chore of her first week. It was both wonderful and terrifying: she was looking forward to the much-deserved break, but she was _not _looking forward to being in the house alone with Erik Destler.

She finished the last window in the living room and piled the cleaning supplies back into the tub. _Sometimes even a braid can't hold these babies back, _she thought, pushing a stray curl out of her face. After she finally got everything back into the supply closet, Christine made her way to the front door. She could hear Annette preparing to leave. She had secretly hoped that there would be another winter storm and Annette would get snowed in. Unfortunately for Christine, it was bright, sunny, and melting outside. She helped Annette into her coat and began to wring her hands as she opened the door.

"_Christine_," she said in her motherly voice, "it's going to be all right. You have all the groceries you need for meals. Your chores are done. You can just _relax_ this weekend. Watch a movie, read, exercise, explore… Don't stay cooped up in one place."

Christine smiled slightly.

"You'll barely see him," Annette added softly.

She gathered her things and headed out the door to her car. Christine gave her a small wave as she drove away. She stood outside on the grand porch for as long as possible. Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds of the mountains: the wind whistling through the pine trees, humming birds darting by… It finally got cold enough to make her go inside. She locked the massive doors behind her and leaned against them. Silence enveloped her. The house suddenly seemed very lonely and Christine felt her heart ache. She tried not to let it bother her.

Usually when she felt lonely at home, she would go to the gym. Christine ran upstairs to her room to change. Luckily she had packed athletic clothes, fully expecting to use the hotel's fitness facilities. She put on a sports bra and yoga pants, grabbed her iPod, and headed back down the stairs. She had taken her hair out of the French braid and was about to put it in a pony tail when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Destler happened to be walking by at that moment. Christine's eyes widened at the sight of him; she had never asked if he was protective of his home gym. He stared at her for a moment, eyes glancing up and down. She finished putting up her pony tail and looked at him expectantly. Surely he knew where she was going.

"Whatever," he said, and continued back into his office.

She turned in the opposite direction of him and grimaced. _For a best-selling author, he isn't very eloquent. _

Christine switched on the lights as she entered the fitness room. It smelled like any other gym, but not in a bad way. It smelled familiar. Her mind wandered as she sat on a mat and stretched. She considered Mr. Destler's mask. It was white, covered the right side of his face, and appeared to be made of some sort of leather. Its contours followed a brow and cheek bone, making a bit more realistic-looking. _Why does he wear it? Is it comfortable? _Christine pushed the thoughts from her mind. This was a time to let her mind rest and body work. She made her way to the elliptical and popped in her ear buds.

* * *

After an hour of cardio and yoga, Christine was pleased. And hungry. It was five o'clock, giving her exactly one hour before dinner needed to be ready. She made her way to the kitchen and pulled out the list of ideas Annette had written for her. Chicken marsala and asparagus sounded nice. She spent the next hour gathering ingredients, chopping, mixing, stirring, and sautéing. It was actually kind of fun. She loved cooking nice meals but rarely had the resources to do so. Christine had everything plated and the table set just after six o'clock.

Christine sat down at the table and stared down at her delicious-looking plate. The house's silence was almost deafening. She tried to ignore the feeling. Annette had said that if Mr. Destler didn't show up in ten minutes after six, he would not be present for dinner. She looked at the clock. He still had five minutes, but she didn't want to wait anymore. She was starving. Christine grabbed his plate and a glass of Merlot and marched to his office. She came up to the door and listened. Faint rustling of papers and typing. She knocked.

"Enter."

Christine pushed the handle awkwardly with her elbow and stood in the doorway. Mr. Destler was at his desk, typing away. It was like he had already forgotten she had just knocked. After a moment, she cleared her throat. He looked up and stared at her. His eyes kept going up and down. Then he finally seemed to remember himself.

"Oh. Right… Just leave it on the coffee table." Then he went back to work. Christine set everything on the table as he instructed and closed the door behind her. _What's up with him? Not that he isn't usually weird, but… why was he staring at me like that?_ Christine looked down at herself. _Oh, God. _She was still wearing just her sports bra and yoga pants. _Was he checking me out? _She pushed the nauseating thought from her mind and sat down to eat her dinner.

Afterwards, she decided to make use of her jacuzzi bathtub. There were all sorts of bath salts, seltzers, and soaps in the bathroom cabinet. When she undressed and stepped in the tub, it was overflowing with bubbles. Perfection. She just soaked for the longest time. The hot water loosened her aching muscles, relieving the tension of the week. It all took a toll: the reaching and stretching while cleaning, her body stiffening whenever Mr. Destler would surprise her… Christine frowned. _I am _not _going to think about him while I'm trying to relax. _She sunk a bit deeper into the tub and closed her eyes, as if making a point.

* * *

Erik sat in the darkest corner of the living room, sipping brandy. The sun had long since set, and he had decided to start the fireplace. Fire had always beguiled him. It was enchanting when contained yet terrifying when uncontrolled. It allured but burned. It was an interesting paradox. He made a mental note to flesh that out later. But for now, it was time to relax. He took another burning sip of the brandy and stared at the flames.

He pricked up his ears—there was movement upstairs. After a moment, he heard the slight squeak of Miss Denton's door opening. Then her bare feet going down the wooden floor of the hall and then the stairs. He trained his eyes to where she would emerge. She slowly stepped forward, bathing in the flickering golden light. She wore an oversized sweater and leggings. The stretched-out collar slipped to the side, revealing part of her shoulder. Her hair was damp but just as curly. She gazed up at the high ceiling and then at the fireplace. She seemed to think for a moment then meandered toward the hall. Her fingers brushed the top of the couch as she walked by.

She walked out of sight, leaving her clean fragrance behind. Erik let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It was always a force of habit to try to blend in, and she must not have noticed him. He soon heard the library doors open. _Ah. She seems to really like the library._

Erik touched his mask absentmindedly, middle finger feeling the artificial cheekbone. This whole situation was odd for him. Granted, he hadn't really had a normal 31 years of life, but it was still uncomfortable. A strange woman was living in and cleaning his house. And now they were alone in his house. Of course he had noticed she was attractive, with her wild, curly mane, lightly freckled nose, and toned body. Of course he had noticed. That was what he saw first. It's what _everyone _saw first. But she had something else… He had perceived her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes whenever he made some comment. He could tell she had many things to say but wisely kept her mouth shut. Spunk? Is that what one would call it? Perhaps.

Maybe he would keep pushing her to see what she had to say. Erik always liked making people earn his respect. He rarely interacted with people so he wouldn't have to deal with their judgment. He could handle critiques and reviews of his writing easily. They were assessments based on something he could control, something he could better himself at. Perhaps he wouldn't want to hear what she had to say.

Nonetheless, she intrigued him. Beguiled him, even. Just like fire.

* * *

Christine opened the double doors to the library. It was dark save for the fireplace and a few scattered lamps. The glow made the room feel even more magical. After her luxurious bath, she had decided that she wanted to read before bed. She began to wander up and down a few shelves on the first level, not looking for anything in particular. Simply soaking the library in was wonderful.

A shelf of newer-looking books caught her eye. They all seemed to be related to each other—their spines were all a matte black with their titles in the same font and color. She tilted her head to the side to read one of them. _Edward Dupont._

"Oh," Christine said softly. She tipped one off the shelf with her pointer finger. The cover art was simple, not loud like she had expected a best-seller to look. She liked that. This one was entitled _Scorch._ Christine replaced that one and retrieved another, entitled _Vanished. _She took it to the nearest couch and began reading.

* * *

_She had been taken. She knew, but she didn't know how. It was muffled. Stuffy. Musty. Where was she? It was dark. Small. Claustrophobia began to creep in. She started to panic. She tried to move, but her wrists and ankles were bound. The darkness was overwhelming and the silence deafening. She was gasping for air._

_Right when she was sure she would pass out from a panic attack, something clicked open. She must have been in the trunk of a car. It was dark outside, but she could see the outline of a figure standing there at the opening. He threw something over her head and picked her up. She started screaming and flailing, but he continued on. Inside, around corners, down some stairs. It was musty again. A basement. _

_He tossed her onto the cement floor like a pile of garbage. He chuckled darkly and she heard his footsteps go back up the stairs. When she could no longer hear him, she managed to get the burlap sack off of her head. It was still dark, but her eyes slowly adjusted. There were tiny windows on the wall opposite her. Perhaps she could escape… She wiggled her way to the wall and managed to stand up. She awkwardly climbed on top of a stack of boxes, trying to reach the window. But she leaned too far and toppled to the ground with a loud crash._

_His footsteps returned quickly, racing down the stairs. She still couldn't make out more than an outline. He loomed over her, and she cowered in the corner. Then he suddenly swooped down upon her. It was terrifying. He roughly grabbed the back of her head, forcing her closer to him._

"_You are still _mine_," he hissed against her ear. She shuddered violently. "You belong to _me_."_

* * *

Christine jerked awake, bolting upright. Her heart was racing. She blinked and looked around, trying to figure out where she was. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw a few dying embers from the library fireplace. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves from the nightmare. _How horrifying_, she thought soberly. The claustrophobia, the darkness, her kidnapper… it all felt so real. Christine shuddered again as she thought about him hissing into her ear. She took another unsteady breath.

Mr. Destler's book was on the floor next to the couch. She must have fallen asleep while reading it. It seemed like her subconscious had mixed the storyline from the novel with some of her fears to create a terrifying nightmare. _Well, I'm never reading his books before bed again… _She had gotten through about a fourth of it—it was quite the page-turner. The mystery and thriller genre was definitely his strong suit.

Now that she had calmed down, Christine figured she better go back to her own bed. She picked up the book and made her way out of the dark library. Dim light from the other dying fireplace beckoned her to the living room. She started to follow it, but something made her stop. A noise, a sound… music. It was a piano. Christine turned a corner and crept toward the music room. Golden light similar to the living room seeped from the cracked door. She inched forward to peek through the gap. Some candles and a single lamp were the source of the rich light. Of course Mr. Destler was inside—that didn't surprise her. What did take Christine aback, however, was the fact that he was playing the piano shirtless. His back was to her, and he was humming along as he played.

The first thing she noticed was how nicely muscled his back was. She immediately pushed that thought from her mind and focused on something else. Even in the dim room, she could tell there was something wrong with him. It looked like there were all sorts of lines scarring his back. She squinted. That's what they were, though. Scars. Different lengths, colorations, directions… Dozens slashed all over. Her brow furrowed in concern. _What are you doing? Stop worrying about him!_ Christine remembered herself and looked away.

She closed her eyes and just listened to the music he played. She didn't recognize it, and she distantly wondered if he had composed it. When she first saw the piano it had been covered in sheets of handwritten compositions. The music began to lull her thoughts away. Lovely.

When she almost dropped the book, Christine realized she must have started to doze off. She blinked a couple times and looked back inside. He was still playing, but something sitting on the piano caught her eye. It almost glowed in the dim light. It was his white mask. Christine suddenly felt like she was violating him on a completely different level than just secretly listening to him play the piano. She slowly backed away and returned to her own room.

She climbed into her bed and sighed. So Mr. Destler didn't always wear his mask, at least when he thought he was alone. She wondered if his face was covered in the slashing scars like his back. _What were those from? Self-inflicted? Or did someone torture him? Is that why he's so private? _

Christine fell asleep musing over the mysterious author, musician, and recluse that was Erik Destler.

* * *

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	4. Settling In

**Hey there! I want to thank you all so much for your lovely reviews! I smile so much when I read them. :) **

* * *

A couple weeks passed. Not much had changed, other than Mr. Destler's attitude. After the second week, Christine finally got the hang of it all, and she figured he would have nothing more to comment on. Not quite. He had eased out of telling her _how _to do things, but he would still pop out of nowhere. Sometimes he wouldn't say or do anything. It was like he was evaluating her cleaning execution. Other times he would say little passing things that still irked her. It was like he was doing it on purpose.

While Christine was cleaning the living room windows one afternoon, the doorbell rang. The sound startled her so severely that she nearly fell off the ladder. She had never heard the doorbell before. She awkwardly climbed down and made her way to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw two large men. She opened the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, we got a shipment for a—" he looked at his clipboard "Christine Denton."

"Oh, right! Of course." She absently signed the clipboard, eyeing her stuff on their truck.

Christine had called her landlord a couple weeks ago, requesting that he send some of her things and forward her mail. It had taken a lot of persuasion—like paying him for his "troubles" and letting him sell or keep the things she didn't want. He was such a prick. She was glad to finally be finished with him.

The two men brought in a few boxes. Then she paid them and sent them away. Christine kneeled down and looked through the boxes. They held clothes and shoes, books, mementos, pictures, and other arbitrary items. She closed them back up, picked up one box, and headed up the stairs. Mr. Destler appeared to be heading for the kitchen when he walked by.

"Who was at the door?" he asked warily.

"Delivery guys. For my stuff," Christine replied, holding up a box.

"Oh." He paused, looking at the small pile. She honestly thought he was going to ask if she wanted help, but he returned to his original path toward the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and continued up the stairs. It seemed like the only time he left his office was to get something from the kitchen.

After she brought up all of the boxes, Christine began to unpack. Hanging up clothes; arranging pictures; organizing novels, sketch books, journals… She sat in the middle of her room, surrounded by memories. The ones she wanted to keep. _Fresh start._ Christine sighed and picked up an old picture frame. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she delicately traced the faces in the photo.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped and wiped away a single tear before looking up. Mr. Destler was standing in her doorway. Ugh. He seriously needed to stop sneaking up on her.

"Unpacking," she said stiffly.

His eyes scanned the clutter around her. "Perhaps you should finish your chores for the day before taking a personal break." His grey eyes bore into hers before he turned around.

Christine pursed her lips and glared after him.

Later that evening, Annette and Christine sat at the table for dinner. They were quiet at times and chatted at others. It was comfortable.

"Who was at the door this afternoon?" Annette asked, taking a bite of potatoes.

"Some guys delivered my stuff," Christine said.

"Oh, wonderful! It must be nice to feel more at home," Annette eyed her.

"Yes. I did miss having _my _things around. I'm also just glad my landlord finally got it sent. I was beginning to wonder."

Another lull.

"Well, I was planning on going to town just for the evening on Friday and then returning for the whole weekend. Would you like to come along? We can do some shopping now that you know what you have and need."

Getting out of the house sounded wonderful, actually. "Yes! I'd love to see more of this area and what's in town. I'll start making a list." She could already name a few things she wanted to get. Mr. Destler had paid her last week, so she had some money to spend. Seeing her old sketchbooks and journals while unpacking made her fingers itch to draw and write again. They had been quite cathartic for her over the past few years.

* * *

Christine's excitement for the weekend put her in a good mood for the rest of the week. She found that listening to some music while cleaning made certain jobs less monotonous. While she was dusting the library Thursday afternoon, she pulled out her iPod to listen, but it was dead. She must have forgotten to charge it this week. Shrugging, Christine put it in her pocket and began to hum. It started aimlessly, but she soon stumbled upon some notes from a song. So she hummed the melody, which changed to "ah"s and then morphed into words.

"_Like painted kites, those days and nights, they went flyin' by_

_The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky_

_Then softer than a piper man, one day it called to you_

_I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind…"_

* * *

Erik heard something. He looked up from the paper on his desk, listening carefully. It was coming from the library. He stood and went to a bookcase on the back wall of his office. After lightly pressing a specific spot along the edge, the bookcase clicked and popped open. He gripped the edge and pulled it open like a door. The sound grew as he followed a dark hallway. It led him to what looked like another bookcase—he pushed the edge of that one as well. The entire shelf began to rotate, but he made sure to only open it a crack. Erik peeked into the library.

His suspicions were confirmed: Miss Denton was singing. He tilted his head as he watched her. She stood on the second level, swaying slightly as she dusted. The high ceiling allowed her voice to ring beautifully. Erik felt his breath catch at the sound of her vibrato and the way her voice climbed effortlessly.

"_The autumn wind and the winter winds, they have come and gone_

_And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on_

_And guess who sighs lullabies through nights that never end_

_My fickle friend, the summer wind…" _

Erik continued to stare as her voice faded back to humming. But some movement in another part of the library caught his eye. He refocused and saw Annette peeking in through the main doors. They made brief eye contact before he retreated back into the shadows. He stood in the dark hall for a bit. She had to be trained—no one sounded that good without some coaching. He wondered if she particularly liked that era of music or if it had just popped into her head… Erik finally shook himself out of the trance. _Stop thinking about her so much. She was only singing. _He returned to his office with a puzzled frown. Beguiling, indeed.

* * *

Finally Friday afternoon had come! The two women finished up their chores and loaded into Annette's car. The trip into town took about 45 minutes. The streets were perfectly clear, but snow still covered the surrounding mountains. Some pines held lumps of it on their branches. Each bend and turn in the road revealed a new view. They were traveling downward. The town must have been in a valley of sorts.

"There's a shopping plaza up here that covers a few blocks. They have all sorts of stores… If you want, I can go grocery shopping while you look around and get what you need," Annette said as they pulled into town. It was quaint like a village but large enough to be urban. She liked that.

"Yes, that sounds good," Christine said dreamily. She was distracted by the bustling town. It was perfect.

"And then we'll meet Meg for dinner. There's this lovely local Italian place not far from here."

They parked in a central area and agreed to meet back there in an hour. Annette pointed her in the direction of some shops she might like then headed toward the grocery store. Christine followed along the boardwalk, enjoying the sights. She took a deep breath of the cool air. This place was just the right size. She didn't feel overwhelmed like she had in the city.

Christine browsed a few stores, slowly crossing off items from her list. She found a book store that had a nice selection of journals. After perusing a few different styles, she chose a leather-bound one with textured pages. The store also had gorgeous fountain pens, so she picked up one of those as well. The cashier directed her to the nearest art supplies store, and she headed there next.

A bell jingled as she opened the door. There were paintings, drawings, and sculptures from local artists in the windows and throughout the store. Christine took her time walking around, soaking it all in. She had missed art. Sure, she had been a communications major, but that didn't stop her from taking all sorts of art courses in college. Art and design had been her original path. Christine tilted her head as she examined an abstract multi-media piece. Yes, drawing had been her true passion. She continued meandering around the store until she came upon the supplies section and remembered her original purpose. _I could have wandered around here for ages! _She grabbed the basics: a sketchbook, pencils, and charcoal.

After checking the last item from her list, Christine headed back to the car. It wasn't long before Annette returned with a shopping cart full of groceries. They loaded everything up and headed for the Italian bistro. Meg was already there when they arrived. She greeted Christine with a hug. They began to catch up, discussing Christine's job.

"So I assume you've been getting better?" Meg asked over her lasagna.

"Better at _cleaning_, yes," Christine responded, trying to indicate that her cleaning skills were the only thing that had improved.

Annette looked at the two, trying to pick up on their unspoken conversation.

"Christine has some issues with Erik," Meg said matter-of-factly.

Christine felt her cheeks flush. She hoped this wouldn't change Annette's view of her.

"Don't we all?" she laughed. Christine looked up, surprised. "Don't be ashamed about it. He's difficult. I know that very well. Did you know that he told me to change the dinner menu on Tuesday? After I already made it!" She and Meg laughed.

Christine still felt a little awkward. Even though she _really _disliked Mr. Destler, it felt odd to gossip about him. He was her employer, of course. But that wasn't quite it. She listened as the other two women talked about him. _They've known him for who knows how long. He's kind of like a family friend. It's okay for them to joke around about him._ But that wasn't it either…

Later that night, Christine sat in her bed and began writing in her new journal. She described her day, catching up with Meg, her feelings… She thought about her reluctancy to gossip about Mr. Destler. Why was that? She began to list reasons. Then she stumbled upon a realization.

"_He wears a mask for a reason," _she wrote. _"There have undoubtedly been scores of people that have gossiped about him because of it. They made remarks. Pointed. Stared. I don't want to be part of the horrible group of people that shuns others because they're different or odd. I don't want Annette or Meg to think of me that way. To think that I have problems with Mr. Destler because of his mask. No, I simply have issues with his personality."_

Christine shook her head and smiled slightly. Writing in a journal had always helped her realize things about herself and others. She put the book in the drawer of her bedside table and went to sleep.

* * *

She woke up late Saturday morning and had a pleasant brunch with Annette. The sun bathed the living and dining rooms in gorgeous natural light. She could tell the weather would be lovely.

After showering and getting ready for the day, Christine changed into jeans and a sweater. She gathered her drawing supplies, and made her way back down the stairs. Annette handed her a mug of hot coffee with a splash of creamer. Christine took it gratefully and opened the French doors to the back deck. It was still chilly, but much nicer than it had been the days before. She made herself comfortable on a cushioned deck chair and looked up at the incredible view.

The lake was like glass. The early afternoon sun engulfed the snow-capped mountains. The blue cloudless sky was a lovely backdrop. She sighed into her coffee, wondering what could possibly be better than this.

Christine started out sketching small things all over one page. She was a bit rusty. Details of a pine cone, a generalization of spruces, the tip of a mountain… Once she felt adequately warmed-up, Christine turned to a fresh page. She used her thumb to help measure rough proportions. Other techniques wiggled their way out of her memory and into her fingers. It was like riding a bike—she couldn't forget.

Time flew by, and the scenery changed. Every once and a while Christine would find something new to draw. It was like inspiration overload. And it was wonderful. She filled a few pages of the sketch pad. After a bit, she found herself staring into space and her hands still drawing. Sometimes they had a mind of their own. Christine smiled at herself and looked down at what they had decided to draw. Her smile faded. This page was full of Mr. Destler. His mask. His eyes. His profile from both sides. His hands. She snapped the sketchbook shut.

* * *

The nice weather continued throughout the next week. It was finally beginning to look like spring. Christine found herself singing and humming more often—she blamed it on spring fever. Today she was cleaning out the living room chimney. She was basically standing inside of it, working at the soot. A sudden shout almost made her smack her head on the stone. There was a continued stream of noise now, so Christine made her way out of the chimney.

"Christine! Christine, help me. Ah!" Annette was shouting from the kitchen. She sounded more alarmed than terrified.

Christine made her way around the chimney and to the kitchen. Annette was kneeling in front of the cabinet below the sink. It was spewing water everywhere. She tried to stop it from spraying in her face.

Christine started laughing. "What did you do?!"

"I must have bumped something wrong. I was trying to get—" The flow of water swelled and sprayed them both.

"Where do you keep tools?" Christine asked suddenly.

"Well, I don't know!" Annette cried.

Christine thought for a moment. "I'll be right back."

She ran through the living room, down the hall, and burst into Mr. Destler's study. He looked up at her angrily but noticed that she was soaked. Before he had a chance to question her, she asked, "Where do you keep your tools?"

"In the garage."

"Right." She ran out of his office and to the garage.

Erik sat at his desk in bewilderment. Why was she all wet? And why did she need his tools? He heard shouting and other noises coming from the kitchen. He rubbed his temple for a moment before calmly standing and heading for the disaster.

He walked into the kitchen and found water all over the tiled floor. Annette was soaked and was trying to mop everything up. He rounded the side of the counter to see where it all had come from. The upper half of Christine's body was beneath the sink. His toolbox was on the ground next to her. He could hear her tightening something with a wrench. The flow of water decreased and slowly came to a stop. She backed out from beneath the sink and stood up. She was dripping wet.

"Impressive," he said as she placed the wrench back in the toolbox.

"I did say that I could do maintenance work," she replied. She took off the plaid button-up shirt she was wearing and wrung it out in the sink. She was now clad in just a soaking camisole. Erik tried not to stare.

"How did you learn?" Annette asked, mopping up a puddle.

"With an ass for a landlord, I had to fend for myself quite often," she turned back around with a thoughtful smirk.

Erik just stood there, staring. Against his will. Her curls had tried to free themselves from her usual braid. There was soot on her freckled nose. She had delightfully creamy skin. The camisole clung to her curves… Christine's smile disappeared at the sight of him staring. _What are you doing? Stop!_

Erik turned abruptly and left the kitchen. As he headed back to his office he called, "I expect you two to take care of that before dinner."

* * *

Erik stayed holed up in his room and office for the rest of the week after the incident. He wasn't present for any meals, and he started working out twice a day. He usually worked out first thing in the morning—around 6am. But now he threw in another regime in the late afternoon. He felt keyed up and physical activity twice a day seemed to help release his nerves.

Annette had noticed the change in his demeanor. One afternoon when he was lifting weights, she went into the gym to speak privately with him. He was doing squats, wearing just athletic shorts. He noticed her presence but kept repping. She watched him for a bit. She had to admit, he was in really good shape. She smiled, remembering when he was nothing but a scrawny teenager.

"What?" Erik let the weight fall to the floor. He was wearing the flesh-colored mask. It was a more breathable material, and he liked to wear it while working out.

"I was thinking—"

"Again?" he sounded annoyed, but she could see the joke in his eyes. She had become quite good at reading him over the years, even with the mask.

Annette gave him a look. "Listen. I'm not going to stay here forever—" He gave an exasperated sigh. "—_and_ I don't want you to continue avoiding Christine after I'm gone. You both need social interaction. I know you don't think you do, but it's true. I don't want to think about what kind of abyss you'll slip into if you don't _talk _to people—" The look in his eyes made her stop short. He hated when she talked like this, but it was necessary.

Her eyes flicked over the scar on top of his left shoulder. "Erik, I do love you. And I want you to be happy." He raised the visible eyebrow. "Or not miserable, at the very least."

He sighed. "Thank you, Anne."

She smiled slightly. "So please make an effort to… let down your defenses. Meg and I trust her. I think she's safe."

Erik's jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. "I will try."

* * *

**The song Christine sings in the library is called "Summer Wind" by Frank Sinatra. However, I imagined it as the version from Emmy Rossum's _Sentimental Journey_ album (which I LOVE!). So look that up if you want to hear how I envisioned it.**

**Review away! :)**


	5. Business & History

**You all continue to make my day with your reviews. Thank you! This chapter will feature a little more depth into some of the characters... more and more will be revealed as future chapters unfold. Slow and steady wins the race. ;)**

* * *

Mr. Destler started coming to the table for dinner. It was just a couple times the first week, then the majority of the second week, and by the third he was there every night. He even showed up for lunch a few times. It was kind of odd. He didn't say much, but Annette would try to initiate conversation and include him. Christine thought that was sweet of her. She was very much like a mother figure to both of them. Christine wondered what his relationship with his family was like or if he had a family. Annette, Meg, and even Mr. Destler were her only family now.

Christine finished her chores early one day and decided to help make dinner. With the extra assistance, they decided to make a four-course meal. It included a salad, a bacon-wrapped asparagus appetizer, seared tilapia for the entrée, and chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert.

Christine took care of the strawberries first, so they would have time to chill and set. Annette gathered herbs and seasonings. Christine started chopping. They found their rhythm working around each other, handing off ingredients, and trading utensils. They started chatting off and on like usual.

"So where are you from originally?" Annette asked.

"A smaller city in Arizona, a similar size to that town close by. I think that's why I like it so much," Christine smiled. "What about you?"

"Born and raised in Denver, and I settled down there as well. I divorced Meg's father a few years after she was born. We just weren't right for each other." She was pensive.

"I know what that's like," Christine murmured.

Annette looked up. "Did your parents divorce?"

"No. Um… They passed away when I was 18. Car accident."

Annette's eyes softened. "I'm sorry," she said softly. Christine simply nodded.

This time the silence was a bit awkward. They continued their preparations nonetheless. Finally, Annette thought of another subject.

"I think Meg went to UNLV to find an adventure of sorts… or to get away from me. I'm not sure which." She smiled. "What made you choose UNLV?"

"I think I wanted to get away, too. I needed a change of scenery by the time freshman year rolled around. And I was interested in their art program."

"I didn't realize you were so into art. I guess I thought it was more of a hobby."

"Yeah, I originally planned on double majoring in art and design and communications. But something swayed me to be more realistic." Christine became thoughtful again.

"What's that delicious smell?" Erik walked into the kitchen, eyeing all of the food.

"That's probably the bacon," Christine said and went to check on the frying pan.

Erik looked at Annette. "Bacon?"

"We've decided to make a four-course dinner tonight! I hope you're hungry," Annette said.

"Well, you know me, I'm always hungry." He stole a walnut from the salad bowl, and she tried to slap him away. Christine watched their interaction with a smirk.

"Christine and I were talking about reasons for going to certain colleges. Why don't you talk about your education while you set the table?" Erik glared at her, which she returned with a sweet smile.

He went to the cabinet and started removing dishes. "I got my GED when I was 16. I earned a bachelor's degree in English when I was 20 and a master's degree in literature when I was 23."

"Impressive," Christine said softly, tending to the bacon. "When did you write your first novel?"

Erik began setting out the silverware. "I _wrote _it when I was 19, but it didn't get published until five years after the fact."

"Why?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Because publishers don't like meeting with a man in a mask," he responded sharply. "Until they think they can capitalize on it." He set down a glass a little too harshly, and Christine jumped. For a while, the only sound was that of the cooking food.

"And you've written a book a year since then," Annette inserted.

"Yes," he said more calmly.

They all continued their preparations for a while, not saying much else. When dinner was finally ready, they sat at the table together.

"First course: salad," Annette said as she served everyone.

"So, how many books have you written total?" Christine asked tentatively.

"Eight."

"Four of which were adapted into film!" Annette said proudly.

"Wow," she said softly. She truly was impressed.

Erik and Annette talked some, and Christine observed. His hair was very dark. It was trimmed on the lower half of his head and a little longer on top. Sometimes he slicked it to the side and other times it was very messy. It was just slightly styled today. The front of it just barely hung over the top of the mask at his forehead. He glanced at her, and she looked down at her food.

They finished the salad and bacon-wrapped asparagus. Christine took occasional glances at Mr. Destler. She still found it interesting that his eyes were grey. He had a tiny bit of stubble today and a strong jawline. He always seemed to be dressed rather nice for working at home. Slacks or dark jeans and button-up shirts. He currently wore a charcoal-colored shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone. Christine looked away again.

"—and Christine is very artistic," Annette was telling Erik.

"Really." His grey eyes flicked in her direction.

"Just drawing," she mumbled into her tilapia.

"And singing," Annette added. Christine looked at her, shocked. "I'll admit I've listened in a couple times… It's hard not to!" Christine felt herself blushing. _How embarrassing… _She could feel Mr. Destler staring at her again.

"I'll get the dessert," she said, quickly getting up from the table.

* * *

A few weeks later, Annette told Christine that the house was to host Mr. Destler's upcoming business meetings. The two of them would be hostesses, serving and tending to their guests.

"People will come _here_?" Christine was rather surprised.

"Well, Erik sure won't meet them somewhere else. It will last for a few days. They're discussing publishing his next novel and the possibility of another movie. Meg will stay here, but the rest of them will stay at a hotel in town."

"Who all is coming?"

"His full-time editor, Meg, representatives from the publisher, screenwriters, Erik's publicist…" Annette trailed off, unsure if she could remember them all.

"_He_ has a _publicist_?" Christine was incredulous. "What does he _do_?"

"Not much," she replied with a knowing look.

So they spent the next few days making sure the house was spotless. Erik was rarely seen—he was always preparing in his office. Christine wondered how he would handle meeting with so many people. He had obviously done it before, but she was interested to see it all unfold for herself.

Not long before everyone was supposed to arrive, Christine was finishing up vacuuming the living room. Just as she turned it off, Mr. Destler emerged from his study. He was buttoning the coat of a dark grey suit. She couldn't help but notice how nicely tailored it was… His eyes and the visible part of his face, however, looked very anxious. He glanced at her and the vacuum before he headed up the stairs.

"Good God, Miss Denton, are you not finished yet?" he snapped. Christine stood there, simply appalled. She would have replied with some quip, but she felt like keeping her head today. It wasn't his usual mocking tone. He sounded genuinely angry. She knelt down to gather the cord back up.

"Don't pay any attention to him for the next few days," Annette said as she came down the stairs. "He's just agitated about this whole thing."

Christine sincerely hoped it would get better. She would much rather have a mocking Mr. Destler than a furious one.

* * *

They all arrived about an hour later. Annette answered the door and Christine took their coats and things as she met them.

"This is Nadir Kahn, Erik's primary editor," Annette said. Nadir was a plump, Persian-looking man. His jade eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly at Christine and shook her hand. She liked him already. Meg smiled as she walked in next. The rest were a blur of representatives and writers and managers… There was a total of ten. Annette led them to the library where they had set up a large conference table. Christine put their things in the front closet and followed them to the library.

As they all settled in with their papers and folders and laptops, Annette began taking drink orders. There were lots of requests for tea and coffee. As Christine followed Annette out of the library, she nearly ran into Mr. Destler. He stiffened and looked down at her. His eyes appeared more worried than angry now. She tried to smile up at him.

"Good luck," she whispered encouragingly.

He nodded ever so slightly in return and entered the library.

They made the drinks and headed back to deliver them. Mr. Destler sat at the head of the table not saying much. Nadir and Meg sat on either side of him—they were the only ones to acknowledge Annette and Christine's presence. The rest of the group was already in a discussion about the number of pages this novel would have. Mr. Destler's publicist, Oliver, sat at the other end of the table, hardly paying attention. He already looked like he was about to doze off. That frustrated Christine on a personal level. She knew what public relations was like. Sure, it could be boring at times, but a level of professionalism had to be maintained. She decided to "accidentally" bump his chair to wake him up. Oliver jumped, and she noticed as three at the opposite end of the table tried to hide their smiles.

After that chore was done, it was on to the next. Christine and Annette worked together to make lunch for 13. They had made a huge grocery run a couple days before to get all of the ingredients for large-scale meals. It took most of the morning. When everything was prepared, it was just about noon. They went back to the "conference room" to serve the lunch plates. Everyone had made themselves comfortable by now: jackets off, papers spread all over the table… Serving them was like maneuvering around a business meeting obstacle course.

Mr. Destler and Nadir were not present. Annette asked her to take two plates to his office. Christine followed orders and went to the study. She knocked and waited for a response before entering. Mr. Destler was sitting at his desk and Nadir sat across from him. They appeared to be discussing a document but looked up when she came in.

"Lunchtime," she said, holding up the plates.

"Thank you, my dear," Nadir said pleasantly, standing to take them both.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked.

"Other than a shot of whiskey?" Mr. Destler responded darkly. Nadir laughed as he sat back down—a reaction she wouldn't have chosen for herself. He seemed very comfortable here.

Christine returned to the kitchen to eat and help clean up. Annette had already started.

"So what's the story on Mr. Kahn?" she asked, filling a plate for herself.

"Oh, he's been Erik's editor from the beginning. It took him a while to find one. He went through quite a few, actually. Many of them would question him or refuse to work with him. Some were perfectly fine, but they still couldn't meet his standards. Anyways, Nadir judged Erik solely on his writing ability and respected his privacy, two qualities Erik sincerely appreciated. And he's a charmer, that Nadir. Could you tell?"

Christine smiled. "Absolutely." She thought for a moment while she ate. "They're an interesting pair. I wouldn't think Mr. Destler would want to work with someone so outgoing."

"Yes, I could see how you'd think that," Annette said thoughtfully. "But they complement each other well. Nadir brings out something in Erik that I rarely see."

"And what's that?"

"Friendship."

* * *

A couple days passed, all with the same routine: drinks, lunch, cleaning, dinner, cleaning. As the meetings and discussions increased, it seemed like Mr. Destler's presence decreased. Christine kept going to his office to serve meals. Occasionally Nadir and Meg would be there as well, but no one else set foot there. It was like his sanctuary. Christine wondered how effective the meetings were with him being separated so much. One day she noticed that Nadir kept going back and forth between rooms, almost like he was a messenger. Christine's communications education had drilled efficiency into her brain, and watching the feeble attempts at it started to drive her crazy. So she decided to confront him about it.

She brought dinner to his study that evening. Mr. Destler sat at his desk as usual, writing notes on a manuscript. He had barely acknowledged her. Christine set the plate on his desk but didn't leave. His hair was a bit more disheveled than normal, the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, and the top buttons were undone. She tried not to stare at the light dusting of hair that was visible on his chest. After a moment, he finally looked up at her. His eyes were tired.

"What?" he sounded low on patience.

Christine mustered up her courage. "Why don't you actually meet with them? I'm sure it would be much more efficient if—"

"It's more efficient than spending entire meetings staring at the man in the mask," he growled. While it was a valid point, Christine wondered if it was entirely true. Surely people weren't that dense?

"Perhaps this isn't my place—"

"It isn't."

"—_but_, have you ever considered that the more you hide, the more curious people become? If you would act as if there's nothing different about you, I'm sure people would slowly follow suit." Christine looked into his eyes, trying to convey her sincerity.

At first he looked angry, but his gaze softened slightly the more he thought about it. She watched his jaw clench and unclench a few times. He had that 5 o'clock shadow again. She wished he wouldn't get so stressed out about _people_. Christine realized what she was thinking and turned to leave his office.

He stared after her. Once she closed the door behind her, Erik took off the mask to rub his face. What did she know about him hiding? _Plenty, _the voice in the back of his mind whispered. He ran a hand through his hair. So she did have some worthwhile things to say. He thought about her words. She had said _act_, not _pretend, _indicating that he wasn't necessarily so different. Although he completely disagreed, it was interesting to hear her voice her thoughts. And she had said _different, _not _wrong. _Erik sighed and massaged his temples.

* * *

Later that night, after everyone left for the last time, Christine and Annette cleaned up the library. It was late, and they were both were worn out from constantly waiting on everyone that week. Christine scrubbed at a stain left on the conference table.

"These people were pigs," she mumbled. Annette chuckled. "...But are they as ignorant as he makes them out to be?" she asked softly.

Annette looked at her. Her face suddenly looked much older. "Probably not. But ignorance and discrimination and disgust were all Erik knew for a long time." Her eyes became glassy.

"How are your stories connected? How do you know him?" Christine asked gently.

Annette looked hesitant, but she thought for a moment. Then she pointed to a chair. "Have a seat."

They sat down at the conference table. Annette laced her fingers together and looked down at them. Her thumbs rubbed against each other as she thought about how to begin. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

"I used to be a social worker. I got many cases, especially being in the urban area of Denver. About 16 years ago, I was assigned to Erik's case." She sighed. "I guess I should start from the beginning instead of when I came in the picture. He—he was born deformed. But that wasn't really the root cause of it all… His mother died days after he was born because of health complications. I think she had diabetes.

"His father had loved his mother _very _much. And having his wife ripped away because of their son… well, he grew to blame Erik. He became very bitter, showing Erik little affection growing up. When he got to the appropriate age, his father made him attend school. But not before getting him a mask. The children bullied him relentlessly… all throughout elementary and middle school. His father did nothing about it.

"The abuse started when he was 13. His father had become an alcoholic by that time. He would go on drunken rages, lashing out and beating Erik. But it was strategic. He would make sure to—to… whip him with a belt on his back, where the marks would be hidden. It lasted for _two years_," Annette finally had to stop. She covered her mouth and a few silent tears fell from her closed eyes. Christine looked down pitifully.

But Annette soon recovered and continued on. "A gym teacher finally noticed and reported it. And that's when I was assigned to Erik's case. I remember when I first met him. He was a lanky teenager. Hair was just as dark then, but he let it grow out. Oversized mask on his skinny face…

"We quickly removed him from his home and his father's custody. There was no questioning he was not fit to care for Erik. So he went through foster care… Even though the system wasn't very good to begin with, it was far worse for Erik. Some families didn't even want him—they would try to _return_ him, like he was an object instead of a human being. I watched him struggle through foster care for a year before I couldn't handle it anymore. I took him in myself. It was unorthodox, yes, but this was a very special case. So he stayed with Meg and me for two years until he was 18. Meg was a very accepting 9-year-old at the time," Annette smiled slightly. "He wasn't exactly close with us those two years, but I think we were the only ones to show him love.

"Once he could move out, Erik went to a large university to finish the two years he had left of college. He had started online classes after he got his GED. He… survived college. It wasn't enjoyable, but it wasn't horrible. He could sit in the back or in a corner and be left alone in huge lecture classes. He had a single room. Academics were a place he excelled, because they were something he could control.

"I helped him get his career started, contacting editors and publishers. But once he found Nadir, he took off on his own. That world was his and he thrived in it. They made a great team. Nadir would do all the talking and face-to-face work and Erik would write.

"We kept occasional contact over the years, and he called me not long after he got this house. Tried to persuade me to quit and come work for him. It was a much less traumatic job, that's for sure. Better pay and benefits, too. Between you and me, it didn't really take that much convincing." Annette smiled at herself again. "And here we are."

Christine gazed at her for a while. Annette could see her thinking, mulling, musing… She had given her a lot of information to process. Perhaps it was best to let her think alone. Annette stood, touched Christine's shoulder briefly, and left the library. Christine sat there in silence for a moment.

Then she grabbed a piece of paper and a pen that had been left behind on the conference table. She sketched an image from her mind that had more history behind it than she had realized. Mr. Destler sitting at the piano with his back to her. Shirtless. Slightly hunched over. Muscles. Scars.

* * *

**Let me know what you think! **


	6. Quarrelsome

**I am terribly sorry for the delay! I've been a little uninspired lately, but it got better! :) Again, thank you so much for your reviews, follows, favorites, etc. **

* * *

The days following the business meetings seemed far more relaxed. They weren't constantly rushing around to clean or make something. Although, Christine rather missed the variety of tasks. Her cleaning chores were starting to get monotonous again. She wanted to listen to music, but after she discovered that Annette had heard her singing, she was terribly embarrassed. Listening to her iPod would only tempt her to sing, and she didn't want to Annette or even Mr. Destler to hear.

Mr. Destler was in a better mood. Well, comparatively, that is. He wasn't snapping at her like he had when all of his colleagues were around. He showed up to the dinner table occasionally. When she did see him, though, Christine tried her very best to be pleasant. After learning about his past, she felt she needed to show him that not all of humanity was horrible. It was difficult, though. He still made little comments here and there, but Christine would try to respond compliantly. She found his reactions rather amusing, actually. It took him off guard sometimes.

For example:

"Miss Denton, you know not to vacuum while I'm eating."

"Right. I'm sorry, Mr. Destler." He had looked up from his lunch with surprised eyes, which he quickly tried to mask. She turned off the vacuum and went to dusting the living room instead.

"The windows in the library weren't cleaned sufficiently," he stated not long after she had finished them one day.

"Oh." She took a breath. "I'll go back and give them a more thorough wash later today." His shoulders stiffened, and Christine smiled pleasantly.

"I'm making tea. Would you like some?" She stuck her head in his office one afternoon. His grey eyes stared at her in disbelief, but he refused to acknowledge the abnormality of the situation.

"Yes… thank you."

After that last encounter, Christine began to wonder if she might be acting _too _nice… Regardless, she liked the new challenge.

Annette had noticed a few of their exchanges and knew exactly what was going on. She was still unsure how to feel. But she decided to speak with Christine about it.

"Christine, please tread lightly," she said one evening after another odd encounter between the two.

She looked at Annette in surprise. She thought she was treading incredibly lightly. She was practically skipping. "What do you mean?"

That was the problem: she didn't quite know what she meant. But she felt like something was approaching. She sighed. "I just… I know what you're doing, and while I think it's wonderful, Erik might not understand. He might misconstrue—"

"What? Kindness?" Christine became defensive. Every way she acted toward him was wrong! She couldn't win!

"Perhaps if you—"

"You know what?" Christine took a breath to steady her anger. "If he doesn't like it or understand it, he can speak with me _himself_." Her tone ended the conversation.

Christine went to her room and sat at her desk. She rubbed her temples. She had never been so frustrated with Annette before! Yes, she meant well, but Christine was sick of trying to appease his weird personality. She had been _reacting_ to him all this time, and it was interesting to see _him_ react for once. She was going to continue acting this way whether he liked it or not. And he could talk to her about it if it bothered him.

After a week of these interactions, Erik was still as confused as ever. And it bothered him that he didn't understand. He sat in his bed one night thinking about it. About her. He pondered the questions he'd been asking all week: _Why is she acting this way? Why is she being… nice to me? How could she possibly not have a response for _that_ remark?_

His comments seemed to no longer have an affect on her. They were his defenses and she was knocking them down. What did she want to gain from this? He'd had plenty of experiences like this before with women… They were pleasant and lovely when they wanted something. There was only one thing they had ever wanted from him. Erik felt his bare right cheek and lied back against his pillow. This _infection_ had caused him so much grief. His hand slid down and across to his shoulder to feel the scars there. He blinked a few times.

Before he fell asleep, Erik resolved to figure out what Miss Denton's intentions were.

* * *

Annette had been nothing but pleasant since their disagreement, and Christine was grateful for her forgiveness. She didn't want there to be tension between the two of them as well. As they sat down to dinner Thursday evening, they figured that Mr. Destler would not be joining them. Christine took the opportunity to take a plate to his office.

She knocked and waited for his reply before entering. The room was dim—just a couple lamps were lit. Mr. Destler was reclining with his feet up on the desk, reading his manuscript. He had gone for dark jeans and a light grey t-shirt today. It was quite informal compared to what he usually wore. He finally looked up from his manuscript. She felt her breath catch slightly—the shirt made his eyes look so… intense. They stared at each other longer than Christine cared to admit.

Then she suddenly walked forward and placed the plate of spaghetti and glass of wine on his desk. She looked at him a bit longer, glancing at the mask. He put his feet down and sat up.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. "No," he growled, "but can I get _you _something?"

Christine blinked. "What?"

"What do you want?"

She stared at him. "I don't under—"

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. We spent your first two months here with gritted teeth. And now you're suddenly the perfect maid? You do as you're told without question—even if it's re-cleaning all of the windows in the library! You smile instead of cringe. You _willingly_ speak to me. _What do you want_?"

He was standing now, and it seemed like he grew taller with each phrase. Christine felt herself cowering beneath his gaze. But she tried to hold her ground.

"Are you kidding me? _I'm _trying to be civil! Unlike you! What do I want? I want this to be bearable or maybe even enjoyable. I'm trying to be _kind_, dammit!" Christine had inched toward him as she snarled back. They were both leaning over his desk, glaring at each other. When they realized their positions, they both stood back up straight.

"But no," Christine said more calmly, "you can't accept kindness. You simply reject it, like everything else." She turned on her heel and left his office. As she passed through the living room, she saw Annette standing in the kitchen. They had been quite loud, and she had obviously heard their argument. Christine stopped before going up the stairs and looked at her.

"I'm not very hungry."

* * *

Christine's mood hadn't improved the next day. She went through the motions of her chores, only cleaning the bare minimum. She slumped from one task to the next. Being nice to Mr. Destler had been a fun challenge for herself. And, quite frankly, it had helped put her in a good mood for the past week. It had given her something to think about. Now she was sullen, frustrated, and confused. Her plan had backfired, and now they were even worse off than before.

She was just glad it was Friday so she could be done with these chores. Then the thought of being alone with him for the weekend upset her all over again. Annette wouldn't be there to break up their arguments. Christine sighed angrily as she finished cleaning her bathroom. That had been her last chore of the day, so she made her way downstairs to return the cleaning supplies.

Annette stood by the front door, preparing to leave for the weekend. She gave Christine an encouraging nod. She tried to smile back before heading toward the supply closet. She grabbed a beer from the fridge after she heard the front door close. Standing at the island, Christine took a few pulls from the bottle. A foreboding silence settled upon the house. She felt her jaw clench. This was going to be a long weekend.

There was about an hour before she needed to start dinner, so Christine took her bottle to the library. A bit of light reading and drinking would hopefully ease the tension growing up her neck. She wandered up and down a few aisles of books before finding something. A small smile tugged at her lips immediately when she saw it. She took the very well-read copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ from the shelf and sat down on her usual chair. Christine took another swig before opening the book. She could already feel her shoulders loosening—she burrowed herself deeper into the cushions of the chair.

A few pages in, however, she was interrupted.

In his usual fashion, Mr. Destler spoke before announcing his presence. "Shouldn't you be starting dinner?"

Christine, engrossed in the book, hadn't heard him approach—as usual—and jumped at the sound of his voice. The stiffness returned to her neck. She pursed her lips and twisted around to glare up at him. "I will. Soon." She went back to her book, trying to ignore him. He continued to stand there, hovering. "_What_?" she hissed, still looking at the pages. She felt him glare at her before he stormed off.

Christine decided to read for a bit longer than she had planned. And so dinner was started a bit later. Just to spite him. She went to the kitchen and just kind of stood in the middle of it all. _I don't feel like cooking. _Frowning, she looked into the fridge, then the walk-in pantry, then the freezer, then the fridge again. _Ugh_.

* * *

Erik stormed back into his office angrily. Now she was expressly hating him? First pursed lips, then smiling ones, and now this? He thought of the different expressions of her pink lips… No! He was sick of her and her mood swings and how she consumed his mind! It seemed like she was all he thought about lately. Erik began pacing, running a hand through his hair.

He hadn't been just standing there to upset her… He had been looking at the book she was reading. It was his copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird._ Sure, all of the books in the library were his, but he'd had that one for a very long time. He had lost count of how many times he'd read it. It was very fragile… and close to his heart. Erik itched to go take it back, but he knew that would set her off.

As he sat down at his desk, his stomach growled. He had asked her if she was making dinner soon because he was hungry… of course it didn't quite come out that way. He just didn't know how to talk to people. Or her, for that matter. Especially her.

Erik stood from his desk and went to one of his many bookshelves. He needed to read something to get his mind off of her. He grabbed his book of poetry. Also well-loved, this book had been in his possession for quite some time. It had served him as both calming and inspirational. He turned through the dog-eared, underlined, and stained pages he knew so well. He finally came upon Walt Whitman, one of his favorites.

He read for about an hour. As usual, he was beginning to feel more relaxed and a bit inspired. Erik picked up a notepad from a drawer and wrote down some scattered thoughts and ideas. A knock at his door pulled him from his musings.

"Yes," he murmured, writing a last thought down.

He looked up as Miss Denton entered his office. Her brunette curls were wild and free. She looked nice when she let them loose from that braid. Perhaps they had been rash before… Both of their emotions were a little high-strung. Perhaps they could both enjoy living in this house… She walked toward him with purpose and set down a plate and glass on his desk. Erik looked up into her chocolate eyes. She seemed expectant. Confused, he looked down at the items in front of him.

The plate was full of macaroni and cheese, clearly from a box. A glass of milk sat next to the plate. This wasn't exactly what he was expecting. He felt his brow furrow as he looked back up at Miss Denton. Her face suddenly looked spiteful.

"Since we're acting like children, I figured we should eat like them, too."

Erik's lips parted. For once in his life, he didn't really know what to say. He looked back down at the plate and decided to eat some. Miss Denton stared at him, waiting for a response. But he wouldn't give her one. Not this time. He heard her sigh angrily and leave his office in a huff.

* * *

The next morning, Christine woke up frustrated. She still couldn't believe he hadn't said anything or at least looked upset… He just seemed confused but then accepted it.

She rolled out of bed lazily and headed downstairs. After making a pot of coffee, Christine filled a mug and stood by the back door. The view was just as gorgeous as the first time she saw it. Everything was turning green again. Maybe she would sketch the mountain-scape again today. It was always changing—there was always something new to draw.

Movement closer to the foreground caught Christine's eye. It was Mr. Destler. He must have gone on a morning jog outside. As he came closer, she realized he was shirtless. Her eyes widened at the sight of his toned, sweaty body. She would have stared longer, but he was coming up the stairs of the deck. And she did _not _want to get caught looking.

Christine suddenly remembered that she was wearing very short shorts and no bra beneath her tank top. She sat down at the table and awkwardly crossed her arms in front of her chest. Mr. Destler opened the French doors and went straight for the fridge. He must not have noticed her. He was wearing a different mask. Flesh-colored and a different material. Her eyes traveled across his body as he drank from a water bottle. When he finished, however, she glared and drank her coffee.

Erik removed his earbuds and began unstrapping the iPod from his arm. A sound made his eyes snap to the table. Miss Denton had just set down her coffee mug. Her presence surprised him—he usually would have noticed if someone was in the same room as him. She looked over at him. Her wild mane was piled together atop her head, unveiling the elegant curve of her neck. Erik's eyes traced its outline.

"What?" she hissed.

He smirked and took another drink of water. "Nothing."

She rolled her eyes and turned to look back outside. He looked at her a moment longer before following her gaze. It really was the perfect view.

Erik moved forward and sat next to her at the table. She ignored him and continued to look outside. He took the opportunity to look at her more. She was rather nice to look at, he had to admit. He watched her throat as she swallowed. She had delicate shoulders. And— Erik immediately averted his eyes when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra. He stared straight ahead for a moment. Then he stood abruptly and went up the stairs to his room. His sudden movements surprised Christine, and she glared at his back as he left the kitchen. She decided to go finish her coffee on the deck.

After taking her time to enjoy the beautiful morning, Christine decided to go get ready for the day. She went back inside and upstairs to her room. She showered, styled her hair, dressed in jean shorts and a tank top, and decided to put on just a swipe of mascara. Heading back downstairs, Christine thought about what to make for lunch. She decided against trying to upset Mr. Destler with her menu choice again. It obviously hadn't worked before. Maybe panini sandwiches… they rarely used that panini press.

Erik silently descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He could hear Miss Denton moving around there. As he neared, he saw that her back was to him. He stopped and watched her. Her curls were tamed now and flowed down to the middle of her back. His fingers itched to touch one. Just out of curiosity, of course. To see what it felt like. Her shoulders, arms, and the majority of her legs were all bare. Erik blinked a few times, trying not to stare at her lovely curves.

He walked forward to look over her shoulder. She was preparing sandwiches for the panini press. He made a sound of approval. She cried out in terror and nearly punched him in the face. Erik easily jumped back but gave her a startled look. They stared at each other for a moment. Then she rounded on him.

"_Will you stop that_!" she shouted. Erik stared at her. "I _hate _when you do that! When you pop out of nowhere and scare me like that! How long have you even been there?!"

Before he had a chance to respond, Christine brushed past him. She ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door shut. He could hear her rummaging around. After a minute or so, she came back downstairs. Erik noticed she was clutching a few things to her chest. She grabbed her sandwich and headed toward the back door.

"Where are you going?"

"_For a walk_. Is that all right with you?" she asked angrily. She left without waiting for a response.

* * *

Christine walked on the path next to the lake, nibbling on her sandwich. The peaceful landscape had finally helped her calmed down some. She found a grassy spot close to the edge of the water and sat down. Opening her sketchbook, she began to doodle aimlessly as she thought.

Of course she'd had no right to yell at Mr. Destler like that. It was just that she felt so helpless and out of control when he surprised her like that. And Rob taken enough control from her… No. She had finally stopped him from controlling her thoughts, her opinions, her _life_. And now she was done thinking about him.

Christine looked down at her sketchpad and found the beginnings of Mr. Destler's eyes. She sighed. She couldn't figure him out. Everything he did and said frustrated her, and yet she was still fascinated by him. She was drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Perhaps she should go apologize. It wasn't his fault she had control issues. Christine decided to enjoy the lovely weather for a bit longer. She expanded the drawing of his eyes to his whole face, hair, neck, shoulders, chest— She had to stop herself there. But then she admired her handiwork.

His hair was a bit messy, some pieces sticking out and some hanging over his mask. She was proud of her shading on his mask—that was something she had struggled with. He had thick eyebrows. Well, at least the one she could see. His grey eyes looked past the viewer intensely. Defined jawline, slight stubble. He had a strong neck and shoulders, and she had emphasized some tendons. She couldn't remember where specific scars were, so she decided to exclude them.

Christine found herself staring at the drawing for a long time. She suddenly remembered herself and closed the book. _He can never _ever _see this… _She thought awkwardly as she stood up and brushed herself off. Heading back toward the house, Christine decided to go apologize to him. When she got inside, however, she found an empty kitchen, living room, library, office, and music room. _Perhaps he's in his bedroom._ She had never even knocked on his bedroom door before. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, contemplating. It was late afternoon now. Perhaps she could apologize with a really nice dinner. Yes! If she started now, she could make lasagna and garlic bread and salad. Hopefully a delicious meal could cover a multitude of sins…

* * *

Erik stood in the same spot for quite some time after she had stormed out. He was completely bewildered. She had _shouted _at him. She had been genuinely angry. He had only been looking over her shoulder. Did he always do that? His stealth certainly wasn't intended to scare her. It was just something he had acquired over the years to avoid… everything. People, bullies, stares, whispers.

He went to the back door and watched as she ventured onto the path around the lake. She walked with purpose—with anger—but it slowly wore off. She looked at the nature around her and basked in the sun. Her gaze drifted to the lake and a grassy spot in front of it. She sat down and pulled out what she had been clutching to her chest. Erik wished he had binoculars so he could see better. Then she started to write on it. Or was she drawing?

Erik headed for his room. The sun was streaming in through the glass of a pair of French doors. He opened them to reveal a small balcony. He stepped out into the warm mountain air and leaned against the railing. It took him a moment or two to find Christine. Yes, she must have been drawing. He propped his left elbow up on the railing and rested his chin in his palm. He watched her. She drew for a very long time, looking up only every once and a while either at her subject or to think. Erik watched her for a couple of hours. _How odd. Why am I so fascinated by her? _

He finally decided to stop. Leaving the doors open, he went back into his room. He sat on the bed and rubbed his shoulder. He hadn't done much today, but leaning over a railing and watching someone for a couple hours could really take it out of you. Erik sighed at himself and laid back against his pillows for a nap.

* * *

A vivid dream woke him an hour or so later. Erik sat up suddenly and stared into space as he thought about the dream. He quickly got out of his bed and headed straight for his office. The day's events and the dream had inspired him, and he didn't want to forget a single thought he had. As he swiftly descended the stairs, something in the back of his brain acknowledged movement in the kitchen and the smell of garlic. But he ignored everything else and shut his office door behind him.

Christine had heard him practically running down the stairs and then his office door slam. She tossed the salad and wondered why he had been holed up all afternoon. Was he avoiding her? Was he upset with her for yelling at him? She bit her lip and hoped the dinner would make up for it. Perhaps they could actually discuss things instead of avoiding or yelling. Christine decided to set the table in the formal dining room. She went to the large windows and pulled back the thick drapes. The sky was orange, the mountains were purple, and the lake reflected them both. It was gorgeous. She plated the food and poured wine and set it out all beautifully on the table. Christine smiled. It was all so picturesque! She was very proud of herself.

Now that dinner was ready, all that was missing was Mr. Destler. She went to his office and tentatively knocked on the door. She thought he heard a grunt. Shrugging, Christine opened the door and found him scribbling furiously on a notepad. She stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment. He was wearing a navy v-necked tee shirt. He wrote fluidly—she wondered if he had nice handwriting. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up enough to look like the picture she drew earlier. Christine realized she had been standing there for an uncomfortable amount of time and cleared her throat. He didn't respond.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Destler—"

"Yes, hold on." He sounded a little frustrated.

She waited a few more seconds but grew impatient. "I made—"

"Just bring it in."

"But I was hoping… Well, I—"

"_What_?" he finally looked up, eyes irritated.

Her lips pursed. "I made a very nice dinner and set the table—"

"I don't have time for that nonsense." He waved her off and went back to his writing.

Christine surged forward to his desk angrily, grabbing his notepad. He stood up quickly and rounded his desk to face her. She ignored the fact that he towered over her.

"_Now _do I have your attention?" she spat. "You listen here, _Erik_. I worked for hours on that meal as an apology to you, you asshole. Yes, I'm _apologizing_. For everything… I will _not _be pushed aside again!" She was positively fuming.

Erik reached for the notepad. "I don't want your goddamn apology," he hissed through his teeth. She held it behind her back and his hands tried to follow. They were very close.

She started poking his chest with each word for emphasis: "If—you—think—"

Erik suddenly grabbed the sides of her face and kissed her. It was hard and uncomfortable. The edge of his mask was digging into her cheek. They awkwardly stared into each other's eyes. She tried to push him away, shoving the notepad against his chest, but he held her there. Apparently he didn't want the notepad, either.

Erik's lips softened and his eyes closed. He tilted his head so his mask didn't touch her. Christine stared at him. _What the hell is he doing?_ His hands became less demanding and forceful. She thought about all the drawings she had of his hands as they ghosted across her cheeks. They caressed her jaw and neck. It was… hot. She dropped the notepad. His lips prodded hers and she finally surrendered. Her eyes slid closed as she deepened the kiss. She touched the sides of his strong neck and pulled him closer. Her heart raced as she felt his toned body against hers. She moaned very softly into his mouth. Christine felt him harden against her hip…

Which brought her back to her senses. She suddenly pushed him away and brushed her fingers against her lips. _How insane!_ They stood there for a moment, a few feet apart now, breathing heavily. Erik looked at her with a grey fire that stirred a heat between her— Christine jerked back to reality, took a couple steps forward, and slapped him square across his left cheek. He looked bewildered as she turned on her heel and ran out of his office.

* * *

**;) **

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